


In the Mirror

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Crossdressing, F/M, Other, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re indeed someone else.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Dans le Miroir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/800319) by [Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune)



> Written for chanchito-z' challenge at foxriver-fic. Prompt #24 - high heels and bright lipstick. ~~Partner in crime~~ Beta: recycledfaery.

He needed the money the first time. Needed it like wow: you don’t do this kind of thing if you are called Lincoln Burrows unless you’re in an impossible, hopeless, desperate situation. It was either that or selling his body – as the saying goes – to a woman with a fake tan and a half successful boob job. He still shudders at this idea. (Actually, there was a third option, killing a man, but back then, he wasn’t into such things yet, and he wouldn’t get _that_ desperate, not for a few years.)

The raunchy black and red lingerie he was ordered to wear felt weird; the nylon stockings kept on sliding down despite his best efforts; the high heels, even once he succeeded in walking with them, hurt like hell; the knee-long dress meant he was freezing under there; the make-up was sticky and the long blonde wig squeezed his skull and tickled his neck. But when he sat at the table in the club, there was first silence and appreciative looks, then whispers, smiles and requests that he courteously fulfilled as long as they respected the _do not touch_ policy.

When he sat at the table he felt like a totally different person and it was fucking wonderful.

* * *

He likes silk panties because they’re so soft. He likes the lace ones because they’re subtly revealing, but he has to be in a peculiar mood to appreciate the itchy sensation on his skin. Cotton ones aren’t bad but way too similar to his every day boxers and therefore useless. Bras have of course to be coordinated with panties. Pantyhose are fun every now and then, but he just loves silk stockings and garter belts because they leave his upper thighs naked and they look so classy and naughty at the same time. He will choose pumps over mules and a dress over a skirt any day. He has a soft spot for silver jewelry, black wigs and grey eyeliner. He would never, ever wear pants because well... it would defeat the whole purpose, wouldn’t it? He’s not big on purses, but he will carry one anyway because it’s the right thing to do.

“You dress like an easy girl,” Veronica told him once. He will grant her that stockings and garter belts are probably a bit over the top. But if you do something, do it right and go all the way, you know?

She’s an accomplice in his weird unexpected kinkiness. She didn’t laugh, scream, ran away faster than light when she first caught him in a red dress and high heels. She just asked why, a bit baffled, and when he answered, “Because I like to feel like someone else,” she smiled, a hint of sadness showing in her eyes.

“You’re indeed someone else.”

Then, she proceeded to explain to him that he shouldn’t use blue shadow on his eyelids – it killed his look – but rather a brown one, and that he should drop this bright red lipstick and go for a simple gloss. More tasteful with the flamboyant red dress.

She’s an understanding accomplice in his weird unexpected kinkiness.

* * *

Finding appropriate clothes and high heel shoes that fit him is quite a challenge. Not that he has to get new ones on a regular basis: going from his daily self to his fantasy one calls for a bit of work and a fair amount of patience, so it doesn’t happen very often. But every now and then, when the need arises and becomes uncontrollable, he takes the time, all the time that it requires, to perform the transformation.

* * *

He shaved his legs and armpits. It’s going to itch like hell when the hair grows back, but a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Now, he’s leaning against the wall, his palms flat above his head, his breath sucked in, his stomach held in while behind him, Veronica pulls hard on the strings of the black underwire corset. The heavy fabric closes around him, compresses and squeezes him until his waist is a few inches thinner and his hips almost seem to curve and expand nicely. He feels constricted, free and different altogether in the restraining piece of clothing.

Veronica lets out a small satisfied noise, firmly knots the strings and pats him on the shoulder. “There you go.”

Silicon gel bags in the cups of the corset. Silk stockings and high heels. Carefully applied make-up and a puff of this ridiculously expensive perfume Vee is in love with. The velvet of the dress is smooth and warm on his skin and he appreciatively shudders as the luxurious garment slowly glides over his back, arms, hips, thighs. The edge of the dress brushes his calves when he twirls and faces the mirror – it’s a beautifully simple, shin-length, high lace collar dress: nothing crude like the first one he wore and for which he still has some tenderness.

His tall, bulky frame is softened by the dark purple velvet, the long sleeves and the collar almost concealing the hard muscles of his arms and neck. A long shiny pendant lies in the hollow between the fake breasts and glitters with each of his breaths. The soft curls of the black wig sweep over his shoulders. He considers his reflection and thinks that the illusion is quite good. It achieves its goal, anyway: he’s estranged to himself.

“What do you think?” he tells Veronica.

“Can you at least breathe with this thing squeezing you?” she asks. She wasn’t totally okay with the corset idea and she still worries a bit – there has been a long explanation about corsets and the reason why women used to faint like nothing.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then you’re just perfect.”

She leans towards the mirror to straighten her tie, then shrugs her tuxedo jacket on and briskly spins on her heels to offer him her arm.

-The End-

**Author's Note:**

> ... and the other part of the prompt was "Lincoln as a cross-dresser" ;)


End file.
